


And thus love the men I love.

by Phileas



Series: French cuisine [6]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Asexual Enjolras, F/M, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-15
Updated: 2014-02-25
Packaged: 2017-12-14 20:55:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/841286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phileas/pseuds/Phileas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Go and talk to Grantaire. Make the effort of seeking his company out of the ABC meetings. Make him cook for you if you must!  He won't turn you away.<br/>“How could you know that?<br/>“Because I'm a poet and poet can see the future. Don't you know anything?”</p><p>In which everything comes to its conclusion and Enjolras wonders who is this stranger that looks a lot like Grantaire but was never this amazing before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. à toutes mes folies

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is! The new part of French cuisine.  
> I must say, the responses I had on Summer Feasts were amazing and quite overwhelming and I love all of you and all the questions I was asked and all the kudos and comments I got. (I always kind of go wild in the comments in regards to personal meta for the characters, if it interest you, I invite you to read them.)  
> (Ps: lesmisersnail is getting what she wanted, because she was so sweet. <3 I hope you'll enjoy it.)  
> This chapter is also quite loaded in French references. If there is any questions, I'm quite happy to answer them.

 

 

 

The sun was high in the sky and Jehan half closed his eyes to look up to Enjolras, standing above him. He smiled.

“Oh, Good day to you.

“Hello Jehan.” Answered the tall man with a smile of his own.

He sat down on the grass by his friend's side and Jehan turned his head to keep looking at him. Enjolras looked tired.

“Have you been sleeping correctly? I know classes started again, but you should take care of yourself.”

Enjolras laughed a little.

“I'm sleeping perfectly well. Thank you for your concern.

“Are you eating well, then?” At Enjolras' hesitation, Jehan huffed. “I knew it. Take a dried apricot.

“I'm not sure it qualifies as 'proper food'...

“Take it anyway. Feuilly made them. Special recipe.”

Enjolras looked at the jar of dried fruits and took one between his fingers. The fruit was moist and tender when he bit it and Enjolras let out a pleased sigh. Jehan smiled.

“Don't you feel better?”

Enjolras nodded wordlessly and laid down. They were deep enough in the middle of the park that the only noises reaching them were of children playing and the birds in the tree. He closed his eyes.

There were no more words exchange for a long time, both of them content enough with laying there in a chestnut-tree shade.

Jehan was reading when Enjolras started talking again.

 

“Have you ever seen Grantaire's sculptures?”

Jehan opened very wide eyes and closed his book.

“Why? Have you?

“No... I didn't even know that he liked sculpting.

“Well... He doesn't talk about it a lot. But yes. I have seen some of them.”

Enjolras opened his eyes and looked at Jehan.

“You two really are good friend, aren't you? You know more about him than all of us.

“I'm his flatmate.” Jehan shrugged.

“Courfeyrac is his flatmate too and he doesn't know half of what you know. I'm not... I'm not trying to say anything, I'm just trying to...” He frowned, frustrated with himself. “I just... I feel like everything I knew about him was a lie. Everything I took for granted...”

Jehan smiled gently and put his book atop his bag, taking an apricot from the jar.

“Well. You never expressed any interest toward him before.”

Enjolras flushed and turned his head away from Jehan, frowning.

“I know.

“I am sure that if you were to go to him and ask him questions directly, he would be more than happy to answer them. Just spend some time with him. It's always an adventure.

“I couldn't possibly...

“Why not?”

Enjolras sat up and crossed his legs. He ran a hand in his hair and sighed when his fingers found a knot and stuck there. Jehan smiled, amused and came to rescue him.

“Tell me why you couldn't.” he said, up close, his breath on Enjolras' cheek.

“I haven’t been the most cordial person to him.

“You have been perfectly amiable to him during the summer.

“Yes but it was... it was... different.

“Why?” Jehan stepped back, the knots in Enjolras' hair undone.

“I don't know.” Enjolras admitted, his voice very low.

 

Jehan hummed and took a better look at his friend.

Enjolras was beautiful in the afternoon sun. His hair were starting to get quite long, almost reaching under his shoulder blades. (And Jehan suddenly missed his own long hair and the braids Parnasse would make with it.)

His eyelids were a gentle shade of red, and maybe it was his lower lip that gave him that ever present pouting expression that did nothing to discourage people from thinking he was barely seventeen years old.

Jehan sighed, delighted by so much loveliness.

“Go and talk to Grantaire. Make the effort of seeking his company out of the ABC meetings. Make him cook for you if you must! He won't turn you away.

“How could you know that?

“Because I'm a poet and poet can see the future. Don't you know anything?”

Enjolras looked at Jehan and hid a small laughter behind his half closed hand.

“My bad. I won't make that mistake again.

“You better not. But I'm serious. Grantaire likes you, he won't say no.”

 

Enjolras nodded and laid down in the grass again. Paris in the early days of September was still warm, and his mind wandered to the afternoon spent laying near Grantaire under a parasol. He felt himself blush and turn away from Jehan, hiding his face under his arm.

Jehan looked at him and with a light smile opened his book again.

 

*

 

Feuilly stretched on his chair, his arms up above his head and yawned without hiding it, too busy relieving the kinks in his arms. He was about to close his mouth when Bahorel shoved two fingers between his lips, against his tongue. Feuilly startled, and bit. Hard.

Bahorel yelped and cradled his wounded fingers to his chest.

“The fuck, Feuilly?

“Excuse me??? You were the one to put you bloody fingers in my mouth! What is wrong with you? Are you losing it?”

 

Bahorel said nothing to answer and simply glared at him for ten more minutes.

 

*

 

Bossuet sat at the kitchen table and yawned behind his hands, eyes still half closed. He didn't move until a mug of hot chocolate was put in front of him, accompanied by three slices of buttered bread. Slowly, he opened his eyes properly and smiled at Joly.

“Thank you.

“You're welcome.”

They smiled at each other a little idiotically until Musichetta entered the kitchen.

“Good morning loves.” She greeted both of them with a kiss and a soft caress, and sat in front of Bossuet. Joly gave her a mug full of coffee and a few slices of bread covered in butter and blackberries jelly.

The medical student turned the radio on to a station that played gypsy jazz and rhythm and blues every mornings between 6 and 9 before joining them around the table.

“I love you” he mumbled, his lips on the rim of his mug, his eyes down on the bread crumbs spread over the table.

 

Bossuet smiled widely and Musichetta blushed a little, putting her hand on Joly's.

“We love you too.” She said, and Bossuet nodded.

“We really really do.”

It was Joly's turn to blush and smile in his tea.

They talked of the weather.

 

*

 

Courfeyrac's mouth was warm and his lips soft against Parnasse's. The taxidermist’s hands were buried once again in Courfeyrac's curls and his eyes were closed. He sighed into the kiss and trapped the student's bottom lip between his teeth, sucking gently on the flesh until he was rewarded with a moan. He let the lip go and licked at the corner of the other man's mouth. Courfeyrac surged forward and put his tongue against Montparnasse's, pushing and sliding against it.

The kiss was moist and languid. Courfeyrac was hard in his jeans and his hands were fisted on Parnasse's white shirt. He pulled away for a second or two, blinking and disoriented, but Montparnasse took his mouth once again and Courfeyrac could only whimper, closing his eyes under the onslaught. They had been kissing for ten minutes and the younger man was feeling light headed. He let himself fall against Montparnasse and grind a little against his leg, red and slightly ashamed. Montparnasse smiled and nipped at his bottom lip again.

“It's all right.” he said, rubbing the skin behind Courfeyrac's hear with a soft thumb. “It's all right, cat.” He kissed him softly, once, and went again for more, touching the young man's tongue with his.

Courfeyrac was flushed and pliant in his arms and he deepened the kiss. The movements against his leg were languid and half constructed, pulling a string of small mewl from Courfeyrac.

Montparnasse kept kissing Courfeyrac, nipping and sucking at his lips, licking his tongue and the edge of his teeth until he felt Courfeyrac's hips stutter against his leg and the young man moan in surprised pleasure as he came in his jeans. Montparnasse smiled gently and kissed him again, chastely, on the cheek.

“That's it, cat. Look at you, you're beautiful.” He smiled and gave him an other kiss on the cheek as Courfeyrac was breathing erratically against his shoulder.

Montparnasse looked up to Jehan sitting in the armchair across the sofa and smiled very slowly. His bird was blushing so hard, how lovely. He put his long fingers on Courfeyrac's jaw and turned his head to the left.

“Look at him. Our little bird is enjoying this.”

Jehan took a shaking breath and swallowed at the sight of Courfeyrac's face, loose with pleasure, his lips red and swollen.

“I'm sure he'd like you to take care of him now, cat.” he whispered in Courfeyrac's hear. “Would you do that?”

Courfeyrac blinked and slowly disentangled himself from Montparnasse to stumble toward Jehan and kneel at his feet. He put his hands on Jehan's pants and paused, looking at Montparnasse.

The taxidermist straightened himself, suddenly serious and focused on Courfeyrac.

“Would you rather I left the room? It's okay.

“No... no, stay.”

Montparnasse smiled softly and sat back in the sofa.

 

*

 

“So, Feuilly...

“Mmh?

“No more teeth nightmares?”

The glove maker looked up to Bahorel and narrowed his eyes. Recently, his flatmate had taken a fancy of putting his fingers in Feuilly's mouth at any given opportunity.

“There is something seriously wrong with you my friend.” He said, shaking his head but never taking his eyes off him, as if Bahorel could jump him at any given time.

 

Bahorel also narrowed his eyes, and took a step back. They glared at each other for a whole minute before Bahorel left the room, walking backward as to never leave Feuilly out of his sight.

When the door closed between them, Feuilly's face took a very tired expression and he rubbed his forehead in incomprehension. Slowly, he turned back to teaching himself new words of English.

 

*

 

This Friday night, at the end of their meeting, Enjolras called out for Grantaire as the rest of the students were leaving.

“Grantaire? Can I talk to you?

The art student pulled a frightened face that made Jehan laugh and he waved off the poet.

“I'll deal with it, Orpheus. Go and join your muses.”

Jehan gave him a kiss on the cheek and disappeared through the door. Grantaire turned to Enjolras and smiled, amused and curious.

“What can I do for you tonight?

“Ah...”

 

Enjolras smiled a little in return and sat on the edge of one of the tables.

“ Actually, I was wondering if you'd like to do something tomorrow. With me.”

Grantaire suddenly felt a little light-headed.

“What kind of something?

“I don't know... It's just that, I realised that I didn't know you as much as I would like.” Enjolras looked down for a few seconds and his grip on his messenger bag tightened. He looked up. “I thought we could just spend time together. We're... friends after all.”

Grantaire smiled, his hands were a little moist and his heart was beating too fast.

“Yeah. We're friends. How do you feel about museums?

“I have seldom time for them, sadly.

“Perfect!”

Enjolras frowned a little at that, surprised but amused.

“How is that perfect?

“You'll see.” Grantaire's smile was big and showing off his crooked and chipped front teeth. “Would you meet me around ten at the Bastille?”

Enjolras couldn't help but smile back, intrigued. He pushed a lock of hair behind his ear and Grantaire absent-mindedly tracked the movement.

“I can be at the Bastille at ten, yes. Why? Where are we going?

“You'll see! Don't google it! Promise me you won't.” He fixed Enjolras sternly and the blond bit his lips to stop his smiling.

“I promise.

“Good. And keep the rest of your day free, too.

“The whole day?

“If it is all right with you of course.” Grantaire said, hiding his budding disappointment.

“Of course.” Enjolras put both his hands around the strap of his bag. “It's perfectly all right. There will be nothing but your name on my agenda for tomorrow.

“Great!”

They smiled at each other and looked down at the same time, weirdly timid. It was new ground for both of them, and they had yet to get used to it.

“Well,” said Grantaire. “I'd better go if I want to catch up with Jehan and Courfeyrac.

“Yeah...” Enjolras straightened and took a few steps toward the door. “Me too. I have to catch the metro.

“Yeah.”

 

They waved at each other outside of the café and Grantaire smiled the rest of the way home.

 

*

 

“BAHOREL!!! I SWEAR TO GOD!!!”

Feuilly sputtered, waking up to the feeling of something alive pressing on his tongue. He flailed around, but the only thing Feuilly could see was the retreating back of his giggling flatmate in the darkness of the apartment.

“What even...”

 

*

 

The next day, Grantaire arrived a little bit early, and Enjolras a little bit late.

Grantaire saw him rush out of the metro entrance and smiled at the sight of the blond man, worriedly consulting his watch and looking around him until he spot Grantaire and smiled brightly with a wave of his hand. Grantaire waved back. Enjolras' hair were braided on the side today, but a few locks had gone out during his commute, and his agitation hadn't helped. Grantaire thought that he probably had passed his hand through his hair in frustration more than once by the look of it.

“I am so sorry! There were renovations on the 11 and I couldn't stop at _République_ for the 8, I had to stay in the 11 until _Hotel de Ville_ and take the 5.”

Grantaire smiled and laughed a little.

“Enjolras... It's 10h13. You're not really late. Calm down.

“I hate not being on time.

“I know.” He smiled. “Come on then, let's walk.

“Will you tell me where we're going then?

“So you didn't google it?”

Enjolras emitted an offended noise.

“Of course not. I promised.”

Grantaire had to put a hand on his mouth.

“Of course. Well. We're going to walk in front of Victor Hugo's house and declaim some anti-bonapartists words in his honour,” Enjolras laughed and shook his head, Grantaire continued, pleased “And then we're going to the Carnavalet.

“And what is there?

“It's the Museum of Paris history.” He smiled at Enjolras, a little hopeful. “I though you might like it. They have everything. From Gallic mummies to paintings of the Commune. Oh, and that portrait of Robespierre you like so much. You'll like it.”

 

Enjolras looked at Grantaire and smiled warmly.

“Yes. I think I will. Thanks. I hope you'll enjoy it too... I mean, I don't want to do something just for me...

“Don't worry, there are some original Nadar photographs there, I almost died the first time I saw them! Did you know that he photographed Jules Verne?”

Enjolras smiled and followed an enthusiast Grantaire in Paris busy streets.

 

They ended up in a little café restaurant around 1pm, talking about tonight film on _France 2_ and _France Inter_ latest guest on the morning show.

“Figures you listen to _France Inter_.” laughed Grantaire, his hand around his glass of sparkling water.

“What?” Enjolras frowned. “It's a good radio. And you're the one to talk, you mostly listen to _Nostalgie_.

“I listen to _OÜI FM_ too! Have a little faith!”

When Enjolras raised a very blond eyebrow, Grantaire started to laugh in his glass, a hand on his mouth full of water. Enjolras shook his head and busied himself with his delicious plate of grilled lamb.

“You know Grantaire... As long as you don't watch _TF1_ or read _Le Figaro_ , I can forgive you anything.

“As is I'd read or watch such things. _Le Figaro_...” He scoffed. “I only read _Le Canard_ _Enchaîné_ and _Charlie Hebdo_. It gives me my daily dose of governmental disappointment, it's good for the cynicism. You have to cultivate it, you know. It's hard work. ”

Enjolras smiled and shook his head again with a fond look in his eyes.

“I found myself so unsurprised...

“Enjolras.” Grantaire put his fork on the table, an aggravated air on his face “You read _L'Humanité_ and _Libération_ every morning and _Le Monde_ every afternoon. You're so left wing it hurts.

“Speaking if which, are we going to the _Fête de l'Humanité_ next week end?

“Sure yeah! Have you seen this year poster? Very fitting, very you.”

 

Enjolras smiled and drank a little water while nodding.

“Yes. Delightful.”

“A red flag delineating Marianne's profile... But it could be yours for all we know. Do you happen to already own a Phrygian cap?”

Enjolras blushed suddenly and Grantaire's ecstatic smile could have powered a entire arrondissement.

“No... How??? Why was I not made aware of this?

“It was a gag gift from Combeferre when Courfeyrac and I made our TPE on the figure of Marianne during High School.

“Of course you did...

“What about you? What was it about? If you can remember it, it's been a long time for you...”

Grantaire laughed a little and ate a piece of bread full of sauce.

“I'm only two years older than you, Euryalus. And I made it on the evolution of the perception of Absinthe through the ages. I got an 18 if you must know.”

Enjolras stared for a little while and ate the last bit of his lamb.

“I don't know what to say to be quite honest.

“Ask me about it, come on... I know you want to.”

The blond put a hand on his mouth to hide the beginning of a laugh. The excellent food was making him mellow.

“I really want to ask... But I don't know if it's wise.”

Grantaire looked at him with wide and patient eyes and Enjolras closed his, defeated.

“Please, tell me more about the history of Absinthe.”

 

Enjolras learned more about Absinthe in the next 45 minutes than he ever wanted to know, but the crème brûlées they had for dessert were exceptional and when they exited the café, he had a full stomach and a better understanding of the 19th century French wine politics and it's effect on the banishment of the Swiss liquor.

“This was surprisingly enlightening.

“Please, no more praises. I could develop an ego.”

Enjolras laughed again shortly and looked around, an easy smile on his lips.

“What now? You have my whole attention until midnight.

“Why midnight? Do you turn back into marble when the clock strike twelve?”

Enjolras levelled him with an unimpressed glare and a long suffering sigh that made Grantaire grin.

“Sorry.” He wasn't. “The sun is shining we can head back to the _place de la Bastille_ and walk up the _rue de la Roquette_ and check out all the revolutionaries buried in the cemetery? I'll even show you where the actual wall of the federated is. Not this piss poor excuse the communists put flower in front of every 1 st of May.

“Are you doing this because you want to or because you think I'll like that?

“Both?” He smiled. “Enjolras, there is enough people buried there to satisfy every member of the association. We'll say hello to Felix Fénéon and Nadar and I'll be the happiest of men. C'mon... Dead history awaits us. I'll tell you about the stolen ashes of Maria Callas on the way.”

 

The afternoon passed too fast and soon enough, they were pushed out of the cemetery by a bunch of guardians in uniform, ringing bells and frowning sternly at tourists and passers by alike. Grantaire looked at his watch and smiled at Enjolras.

“Look at this, it's already six. Time flies! How are you feeling?

“My feet hurts and I could eat something. You?”

Grantaire pat him on the back with a loud laugh.

“I could go for something to eat too. You know what, there is this café near by, they serve excellent French cheeses and also some _saucissons_ from Corsica!

“Corsica is in France Grantaire.

“Yeah well... Don't say this too loud in the café if you want to go home unarmed.” He laughed. “You know how Corsican are proud of their island.”

Enjolras raised an amused eyebrow.

“You mean a little like Briton are proud of their department?

“How would I know? I'm from Cahors!”

Enjolras huffed, slightly amused and followed Grantaire out of one of the small exits of the cemetery.

“You really know a lot of places to eat and drink around Paris...

“I'm a student, it is my solemn duty to know that sort of things. I take good care of taking care of my outer social circle in order to make my inner social circle (that's you lot) always welcomed and listened to in any circumstances. If these circumstances happen to be the elaboration of a protest, so be it.”

 

The taller man frowned a little and seemed lost in his thoughts for a handful of minutes. He looked up to Grantaire and put his hand on the other man's arm.

“I thought you didn't believe in our causes. You told me so the last night in Brittany. Why do you do this, then?

“I also told you that my friends were important, didn't I?

“Yeah... But I-”

Grantaire stopped walking and put a large warm hand in the middle of Enjolras' chest. He looked at him with grave and tender eyes and shook his head a little.

“I believe in you. Isn't it enough?”

Enjolras found himself at loss for words and simply nodded. Grantaire smiled at him and pat his hand a few time on the chest before walking away.

“Aren't you coming, then?”

Enjolras joined him in three long strides and they entered the café.

 

*

 

Jehan was still up when Grantaire came home around one. He watched Grantaire open the door in a state of general delight, not really processing his surroundings, a silly smile on his face.

 

“I take it your day was good then?”

Grantaire turned around from where he was hanging his coat, a little startled, but nodded with a big happy sigh.

“It was fantastic. And I'm a little tipsy right now. But it's okay, because Enjolras is too. So yeah.

“Enjolras is tipsy?

“We went to the Athanor and you know the usual crowd. So we found ourselves in deep conversations with a bunch of Freemasons from the Great Orient and the Human Right and of course it went away quite fast, you know Enjolras. And I think we started a revolution. So of course we had to drink to that.”

Jehan started to laugh and patted the sofa beside him. Grantaire sat and smiled again.

“It was amazing, Jehan. He is amazing.” He let his head fall backward and hid his face with his hands. “I am... so in love with him.

“I know.

“The whole day was extraordinary. We didn't argue once, well, not seriously I mean.” Grantaire sighed. “He is so beautiful... I want to paint him. I want to sculpt him. I want to take pictures of him but none of it will ever do him justice.” He sighed again. “He is incredibly perfect and I want to kiss him.” He rolled his head toward Jehan and smiled a secret little smile.

Jehan passed his fingers through Grantaire's dark curls and smiled in the same fashion.

“I'm happy for you. Did you walk him home?

“Yeah. He said we should do it again sometimes. And he kissed me on the cheek.” A pleased flush grew on his face and he closed his eyes. “I know it's not anything special and he was probably a little tiny bit intoxicated... But it was nice.

“It is special for you. That makes it important, don't you think?”

Grantaire nodded happily and let out a gigantic sigh.

“I'm tired now... I'll go to sleep. Don't stay up too late, birdy.”

Jehan laughed and shooed him away.

“I'm finishing my book and I'll go to bed. Off with you now. Good night Grantaire.

“Good night Jehan.”

The poet smiled and looked at him until his door was closed.

 

*

 

“Bahorel, put your fingers near my mouth once again and I'll cut them off while you sleep.”

 

Feuilly's eyes were closed as he was napping on the sofa, but his words were hard and severe. Bahorel, leaning over him, froze on the spot. When Feuilly opened his very blue eyes to glare at him, he couldn't help but answer with a debonair smile.

“Well...

“What is it with you? Why do you do this? Have I wronged you in any way? Is this an elaborate stratagem to see how long it would take to make me break and go into a killing spree that would start and end with you? I though we were friends!!!

“No it's not that...

“what then?”

Bahorel scratch the back of his neck and sat down.

“It's complicated.

“I'm sure I can understand. Try me.”

The law student sighed, and sighed a second time for the form, taking a pained expression.

“I don't know... The first time it was just, you know... A sudden urge to check if your mouth was really as hot as I remembered, and then I just did it to fuck with you mostly.”

Feuilly glowered.

“You're a cunt.

“No, but also, can I kiss you?

“What?”

 

There was a moment of extreme silence and Bahorel asked again.

“Can I kiss you?

“I'm straight.

“I know. So am I.

“I'm not following, there, Bahorel.”

Bahorel shrugged and smiled good naturedly.

“Have you ever wondered what it was like to kiss a guy?

“No.

“Ah... Well. So. Can I?”

Feuilly narrowed his eyes and sat back on the sofa to be able to look Bahorel in the eyes.

“With the tongue?

“Yeah...”

Feuilly started a bit more and finally shrugged.

“Sure. But don't put your fingers near my mouth again.

“Okay!”

Bahorel smiled and put a hand on Feuilly's shoulder, pulling the other man toward him a little. Their noses bumped and Feuilly frowned, but they ended up with their lips touching at last. Bahorel opened his eyes to find that Feuilly never had closed his.

“Close your eyes, man... You're freaking me out.” he says, his lips still touching Feuilly's.

The glove maker let out a deep sigh and closed his eyes. Bahorel smiled and finally kissed him properly. The kiss was slow and tentative, but all in all it was a good kiss and Feuilly let himself relax.

When they separated, Bahorel was looking at Feuilly with a thoughtful gaze.

“So?” asked the glover.

“Well, I... Well. That was.

“Weird.”

Bahorel started to laugh, apparently relieved.

“Yeah! It was weird. I mean, you're a good kisser but...

“Yeah.”

They looked at each other, amused and Feuilly shook his head.

“Well, I'm glad this is settled.

“Yeah. I'm sorry for the finger thing... I was just fucking with you, I swear.

“Don't do it again.

“I'll find something else.”

Feuilly sighed, and decided that he was sighing way too much around his infuriating flatmate. He laid down the sofa again and turned his back to Bahorel.

“Well do it when my nap is over. Some people are working, here.”

 

Bahorel cackled and pat him on the back.

“Sorry. I'll go out. I have French boxing with Grantaire anyway.

“Tell him I said Hi.

“Will do, will do.”

Feuilly waved him off without looking at him and was asleep before the front door was closed.

 

 

 


	2. à mon feu dans mes mains

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love you all for leaving kudos and comments! (Especially Kironomi and Lesmisersnail for always, always being the most amazing readers! Thank you so much.)

 

 

 

“Stop!” Jehan said one November evening at the Musain, with a displeased frown and a bright red face. “Stop that. I am not the smallest one. I'm taller than Courfeyrac, guys.”

There was a moment of silence and Bossuet put his chin in his palm.

“Seriously?

“Yeah. Three big fat centimeters to be quite precise.”

Everyone turned to Courfeyrac, who shrugged and smiled.

“Maybe I have a thing for being manhandled.”

Joly laughed and sat back a little bit straighter on his chair.

“Who's the tallest anyway?

“That must be Combeferre! Or Bossuet.”

Combeferre smiled and shook his head.

“No. Enjolras is taller than the both of us by one centimeter.

“Enjolras is really tall, that's true.

“Yeah.” Bossuet nodded. “He's the tallest one here. Aren't you, Enjolras?”

The blond looked up from his newspaper and blinked a few times before nodding, mentally catching up with the conversation.

“Oh, yes, yes. I'm 1m82.”

 

Grantaire put a hand to his mouth and frowned.

“Seven centimeters...” he whispered to himself. Courfeyrac, sitting by his side, laughed at this and pat his back friendlily.

“Better your seven than my twelve!”

Grantaire stared at him for a moment and pulled both his lips inside in mouth, his teeth biting them to retain the wild laugh that was threatening to burst out of him. Courfeyrac stared back but his manic giggles came out of his throat without any complex.

“Oh god...”

They fall on each other and snickered for a while, as if they were barely over the age of eleven. Enjolras looked at them, his eyes half closed, but said nothing.

Bahorel put his hands flat on the table and nodded gravely.

“I think Combeferre is still the most impressive. I mean, his hands are gigantic. I wouldn't want to get slapped by those.”

At this, Combeferre's eyes widened and he put his hands on his lap, strangely embarrassed.

“Yes.” Jehan nodded. “You are very broad too. You look like a Turkish wrestler.” He smiled and Combeferre found himself one word away from turning slightly pink.

“Well...” he said with his soft voice. “My father was in a rugby team in Toulouse... If that count. I took after him I guess.” They all nodded as if a mystery had just been resolved. “But he wasn't from Turkey.

“Oh, were was he from?” asked Feuilly with interest. “We know Bahorel's family is from Morocco, but you are a mystery!

“Algeria. Well... His parents came here after the war, he was born in Toulouse.” He pushed his glasses back up his nose to hide his sudden timidity. He wasn't often the focus of his friend's attention and all of this was making feel a bit self conscious.

“Was your mom's family from Algeria too?”

“No.” he shook his head. “My mother's maternal side of the family lives in Spain, near Seville. But my mom simply says that she's French.” He smiled, amused. “Her father married a French woman, so she has the double nationality, but she always lived in Toulouse.”

Jehan suddenly perked up.

“Oh, does that mean that you speak Spanish?

“Yes.” Combeferre smiled a bit more at his friend's enthusiasm. It wasn't a secret for anyone that Jehan spoke several languages. “Hablas español, Jehan?

“Oh, no. Ma io parlo Italiano.” He shrugged with a smile. “I had to chose between Spanish and Italian in High School because I was already taking English, Latin and Greek. That was stupid really because I took classic Arabic as an option for the Bac, so it's not like I couldn't take one more language, you know.” Jehan rolled his eyes. “But, well... Try to reason with the academic world.”

There was a sudden silence in the small back room they were all sitting in (If Montparnasse had been there, he would have snickered.) and Combeferre smiled gently.

“You should have told me that you speak classic Arabic. We could have had private discussions.

“We still can.”

They smiled at each other until Bahorel asked, a bit impressed.

“How much languages do you speak exactly Jehan? Five?”

The poet nodded and blushed a little.

“Yes. And I'm learning Hebrew right now.”

Feuilly moved his chair closer to Jehan and they started to talk excitedly about language learning strategies and books while Bossuet and Joly turned to Combeferre to launch him on the newest law projects on education. Ten minutes in, Enjolras joined them and after half an hour, almost everyone was debating the various educational progress made by the government since the 3rd Republic.

 

“No! No, you can't say this! Everyone knows that Thiers was a proper royalist arsehole. He sent the communards to New Zealand! Does the name Louise Michelle means nothing to you?

“Yes but Jules Ferry! I mean, we're talking about free secular schools, more extensive studies for girls and mandatory education here! That's something!

“You can't just forget his views on colonialism, though. The Tonkin was a big deal.

“You know who I like? Léon Blum! You have to hand it to him, the social progress under his presidency where amazing.

“I am rather fond of Mauroy myself.

“He wasn't president.

“I know, I know... But everyone knows that the real power lays with the prime minister. And you know, as a socialist he did great things for the workers! And he had communist ministers!

“You're a communist now, Feuilly? Has André Gide gone to your head?

“You know I'm not. But you also know that I vote _Front de Gauche_ , so I guess I'm a little bit more leftist that the politically correct socialists in power right now...”

There was a general murmur of agreement that turned to delight when Grantaire came back, his hands charged with half a dozen pints of dark beer and a Cacolac for Enjolras.

The blond looked up when the bottle was put on the table in front of him and Grantaire smiled, putting a straw in the bottleneck.

“For you, my liege.

“Really Grantaire? Chocolate milk. How old do you think I am?”

Grantaire made a tutting noise and hold a finger in front of Enjolras.

“I'll have you know that Cacolac is a beverage only findable in France, originated in Bordeaux but nowadays manufactured in Aquitaine in a factory that employ 43 persons. This is the pride of our beloved country, and you should appreciate it as such. It is non alcoholic and delicious and I chose it for you.”

Half of the men around the tables hold their breath as Enjolras once again opened his mouth, fearing the beginning of a conflict. But Enjolras only smiled, one of his eyebrow raised in an impressed manner.

“Well. If you chose it for me, and seeing as you have obviously done your research.. I will drink it. Thank you.”

Grantaire's face took a pleased expression and he gave Enjolras a smile before giving the rest of the beer away.

Enjolras sipped at his bottle of chocolate milk for the rest of evening.

 

*

 

Enjolras turned his key in the lock of his flat and sighed a little as he put off his black boots. He let them lie near the entrance and walked to the kitchen with only his striped socks to shield him from the cold wood parquet. He poured himself a glass of water and drank it in the heavy silence of his apartment. He looked around, taking in the empty space around him and felt a little solitary.

Enjolras would never admit to it, but the loneliness was eating at him quite often and turned his eyes sad and cold more frequently than he would like. He put the empty glass in the sink and shed off his coat, letting it fall on the back of a chair. He brought a hand up to his hastily-made bun and dragged the black elastic out of his hair making it fall around his face and on his shoulders. With an other sigh, he let himself fall in the sofa, looking at his ceiling with a very blank face.

Enjolras' swirling thoughts were interrupted by the small vibrations of his phone against his tight and he pulled it out. It was a text from Grantaire.

“ **Hey. Made it home in one piece?”**

A bit despite himself, Enjolras smiled at his phone screen and worked on his response.

“ **Yes. Thank you for tonight. I had fun.”**

They had gone to a nocturnal at the aquarium and mostly talked about the French revolution instead of looking at the fish and other aquatic creatures.

“ **My pleasure! Even if your views on Robespierre and Desmoulins are clearly wrong and biased.”**

Enjolras squinted at his screen in mock outrage but couldn't help but let out a small snigger.

“ **Considering your opinion on Saint-Just and Marat, R, I don't think you should be allowed to emit any kind of judgment on this subject!”**

He kept watching his phone until Grantaire's responded.

“ **This is an outrage. How very Girondin of you to try to stifle my freedom of speech!”**

Enjolras gaped and let out a cry of indignation. His fingers flying over the small touches of his phone.

“ **OH NO YOU DID NOT GO THERE!!! Grantaire, take that back immediately.”**

“ **Or what?”**

Enjolras huffed and tried to come up with a suitable punishment.

“ **I'll call you by your first name for the rest of the month.”**

“ **Kinky.”**

Upon reading this, he had to put the back of his hand on his mouth to hide a small titter.

“ **It is war, then. Remember that you brought this on yourself, Melen Camille Grantaire. Btw, born on the 5 th of June and called Camille? Is there anything you'd like to tell me?”**

“ **I'm going to stop you right now and ask HOW the hell do you know this?”**

“ **Jehan.”**

“ **You asked Jehan for all my names?”**

Enjolras faltered and blinked once or twice, suddenly grateful that no one could see him blush.

“ **Bonne nuit Camille.”**

He stood up, leaving his phone on the sofa and went into the bathroom to wash his teeth and take his clothes off for the night. He grabbed his phone again before going to his bedroom and settling between his sheets. He had a new message.

“ **Bonne nuit Maximillien.”**

Enjolras rolled his eyes and huffed an other little laugh before turning over and falling asleep almost instantaneously, his feelings of loneliness completely forgotten.

 

*

 

Jehan was looking through the glass, rolled up on himself on the window sill. It was raining today and the plan he had made of going out to the park fell quite flat. He sighed and put his chin on his knees, perilous enterprise if any, he had very long legs and hard bones.

What good was a Saturday if there was no sun outside? Jehan was starting to feel a bit down. He traced invisible roads on his bare feet with the tip of his fingers and stared some more at the rain outside. The plic-ploc of the water drops on the glass was the only thing he could hear. Loud enough to drown the sound on the street.

He sighed again and froze suddenly when a humming sound startled him. He turned around to find Grantaire standing behind him, humming a melody and Courfeyrac on one knee by his side, bith of them looking straight at him.

“What..?

“ _I can dim the lights and sing you songs full of sad things ; We can do the tango just for two..._

“Oh god...” Jehan put his hands on his mouth as Courfeyrac started to sing with a charming smile, worthy of a crooner from the 50s. He listened to him with a secret little smile, shaking his head with mirth when Grantaire started to sing the chorus. Courfeyrac, meanwhile, was still going strong.

“ _Ooh let me feel your heartbeat (grow faster, faster), Ooh ooh can you feel my love heat ; Come on and sit on my hot-seat of love_ ” He wiggled his eyebrows. “ _And tell me how do you feel right after-all._ ”

Jehan blushed terribly and turned his head away to try and hide it. His shoulders were shaking with repressed laughter and, seeing their efforts crowned with success, Grantaire and Courfeyrac kept going with renewed gusto, acting the lyrics out and gently taking Jehan away from the window and his grim thoughts.

Courfeyrac swept him into some nondescript dance, a warm hand on his hip. He was smiling and kissing him when the song allowed him to. Meanwhile, Grantaire was making jazz hands and getting really into the chorus, twirling on himself.

They ended the song on their knees, arms and smiles wide. Jehan laughed and applauded with great delight.

“That was the most amazing rendition of Queen I have ever witnessed.” He bent at the waist and kissed Grantaire on the corner of his eye. “Thank you.” He turned to Courfeyrac and blushed again, smiling. “I love you.” Gently he went down to his knees and hugged his boyfriend. “Thank you.”

Grantaire smiled at them and got up.

“I made hot chocolate with the cocoa powder I got from my aunt. The one from Belgium, you know? Do you want some? I even bought whole milk just for the occasion.

“Oooh! Whole milk! Will you have enough to make crêpes too?”

Grantaire let out a fake sigh.

“So demanding Monsieur Prouvaire. But if you must know, yes. I bought two litters.” He smiled and went into the kitchen.

Courfeyrac kissed Jehan's neck and let his nose caress the younger man's skin and nuzzle his ear.

“I feel so sad for Bahorel. No chocolate and crêpes for him.

“Can't he replace it with soya milk, though?”

Courfeyrac nodded and kissed Jehan again.

“You remember when he ate Feuilly's _riz au lait_ anyway?”

Jehan closed his eyes and bit his lips to hold his laughter inside. Grantaire, though, was not so delicate and snickered from the kitchen.

“Yeaaaah... Poor guy. He couldn't go to the toilets for like... five days!

“Oh, don't laugh, he was in pain. He had horrible cramps!”

Grantaire laughed again and came back in the living room holding three mugs of hot chocolate.

“It was a great _riz au lait_ , though.”

Courfeyrac took two of the mugs and gave one to Jehan.

“Thank you, _Camille_.

“Ooooh, for fuck's sake!”

Jehan sniggered in his mug and glanced at Courfeyrac's innocent face.

“What? It's your name, isn't it?”

Grantaire glared but drank his chocolate with dignity.

Enjolras had indeed put his menaces to full effect and had been calling him Camille for almost two weeks now. It was not to say that he didn't enjoyed it, it was more the fact that half of his friends had also jump aboard the train and he couldn't spend a day without hearing his second name.

“Anyway. How's Montparnasse?”

“Mh!” Jehan swallowed his mouthful of chocolate. “He's fine! He's working on something big right now. Some woman wanted him to naturalize a deer head and hooves, and instal them on a mannequin body for some exhibition.” He smiled. “I'm definitely going to see that once it's done.”

Grantaire had to hit himself on the thorax to calm is wild coughing when the chocolate went down the wrong pipe.

Courfeyrac wisely chose to say nothing. Instead he just gave Jehan an other kiss on the shoulder.

 

*

 

It was almost ten that night and Grantaire was well on his way to cheerful drunkenness when Enjolras crossed the back room of the café to sit by him, and Grantaire seemed delighted to see him so close.

“Oh, my own Maximillien, the incorruptible Enjolras! Welcome, welcome. What are you doing here, so far from your usual hunting grounds?

“I though I'd talk to you.

“About?” He smiled and drank a bit more of his beer. Enjolras watched him do so with a slight frown and his original questions went away, forgotten. Instead, Enjolras gestured toward the beer glasses.

“Why do you keep drinking like that every single night, Grantaire?”

Grantaire sobered a little at this, putting his pint back on the table.

“Oh.” He murmured. “So it's not Camille anymore, is it? Which way to the guillotine? Should I grab Danton while I'm at it?”

“Grantaire... Please.”

At this little plea, Grantaire sighed and lift his hands to the ceiling.

“Because I'm an alcoholic!!! Surprise.” He said with the slightest bitterness. “I can't stop now. My hands start shaking a little and I can't work on my class projects. I...” He looked up to Enjolras for a second but avert his eyes quickly. “I want to stop, you know... I really want to, but I can't-

“Of course you can, I'm sure you're strong enough to-

“You don't understand... I can't do it now. It would fuck up all my school work. I tried to stop before. I didn't last more than a week because I couldn't hold my hands still. So... So I'm waiting until I get my Master and... And then I'll see a doctor or something.”

He looked down at his beer and sighed a little, pushing a hand through his tangled hair.

“But, you know, I'm trying to cut down, I swear.” Grantaire was looking at him with big wide eyes. “You have to believe me, I'm trying to cut down... You have to believe me Enjolras... I swear. But sometimes it's so difficult...”

Enjolras opened his mouth, disapproving, but Grantaire's frightened expression stopped him and made him reconsider. He took a deep breath and put a soft hand on Grantaire's shoulder.

“I believe you.”

Grantaire stared at him, surprise etched over his face.

“You do?

“Yes. I'm... glad that you're trying and... I'm glad that you think seriously about seeing a doctor.”

Grantaire smiled a little, still slightly incredulous. Enjolras squeezed his shoulder.

“I just want you to be well. And... while I'd rather you'd do it now, I understand. I can't force you, after all, can I?” He smiled a little. “So... Do you want to talk about Bansky?”

The change of subject was poor, but it made Grantaire snort. The art student gestured to Madame Hucheloup for two glasses of water.

“Don't get me started on Bansky!”

Enjolras smiled and did just that.

 

Later that night, Grantaire was about to leave when he stopped to look at Enjolras.

“I don't know why I told you all of this... You know, I would never have told you anything a few month ago.”

The blond's smile turned down a little.

“A few month ago I would never have listened to you... I'm sorry, Grantaire. I wasn't a very good friend.

“Bah...” Grantaire waved him off. “I get it. We're getting along now, that's nice, isn't it?

“It really is...”

 

Grantaire smiled and put one of his large warm hands on Enjolras' shoulder for a few seconds.

“Good night Enjolras.”

And with a last wave, he was gone. Enjolras turned around to end up face to face with Combeferre.

“Well?” The med student said, en eyebrow raised above his glasses.

“Well... well what?

Combeferre half closed his eyes and Enjolras responded in kind. They stared at one another for a while until Enjolras, very deliberately, decided to stop this non-sense and put his coat and scarf on.

“If there is nothing you wish to tell me, I'm going home now.”

He was gone in a matter of second and Combeferre looked down at Jehan, now at his side. Jehan looked up and smiled, his eyes sparkling with gaiety.

“They're sweet.”

Combeferre smiled back and faced the door Enjolras had just exited.

“They sort of are.”

 

*

 

Joly was pale and shaking on the sofa, close to tears even. He was clutching his pill-box between his hands and waiting for Musichetta to come back with a glass of water.

“I swear, I swear to you it's the ankylosing spondylitis. I can feel it in my back. I'm going to end up with a paralysed spine, Musichetta... I have all the symptomes.

“I know love.” She sat by him and handed him the glass full of water. “I believe you. Take your medication, maybe it'll make you feel better.

“It won't work Musichetta. It's for real this time. I know it.”

She smiled softly and kissed him on the cheek.

“Well. I read somewhere that ankylosing spondylitis could be slown down by regular exercise and physique efforts. I'm sure you have quite some time before the paralysis start. In the meantine, your pills will calm you down and once you feel better, we can check with Combeferre. What do you say?”

He nodded shakily and poped a few pills in his mouth, swallonwing everything down with a sip of water. He exhaled and closed his eyes, waiting for the antidepressants to kick in.

They all had been very reluctant to try the pills at first. And it was still only used when Joly's level of panic was too high. He had started cognitive behavioral therapy last year and it had helped. But sometimes the nevrose was to strong.

“I'm sorry...

“Don't be.” She kissed him on the temple and took his hand in hers. “I love you.

“I love you too.”

Joly fell asleep with his head on her shoulder, and woke up in bed, cuddled between Bossuet and Musichetta.

He felt a hundred time better already.

 

*

 

Enjolras and Grantaire soon discovered that they had a matching gap of three hours in their school schedule every Wednesday morning and it was quickly decided that they would spend it together, walking around or having a late breakfast at the university cafeteria.

 

It was the first Wednesday of December when suddenly Grantaire stopped walking and pulled Enjolras toward a little market.

“I forgot it was market day today around here!!! Come, we'll buy some cheese or anything that looks good.

“Oh, Grantaire, we don't have time for this.

“Of course we do. You just don't take it. Come on... Please.”

Enjolras sighed but let himself be dragged around the market, soon as enthusiast as Grantaire about the kind of cheese he wanted to eat and whether or not cherry-tomatoes were in season. (They weren't.)

 

They ended up 45 minutes later, eating dried fruits and cheese on a bench, talking about anything and more specifically, both their childhood. Grantaire told him about disappointing his father with his Plastic Arts studies and Enjolras answered with stories of his own.

“You know, I told you... I used to love singing.

“But, you still do. I mean, that time with the miserere... That wasn't the voice and technique of someone that stopped singing.”

Enjolras sighed and ate a piece of dried strawberry. He turned his head to Grantaire.

“No... You're right. I still take two hours at the conservatory every Monday. But I never told anyone before.” He sighed again. “You know how I always go home for Christmas?

“Yeah...”

Enjolras sighed a third time and bent over, putting his face on his hands.

“My mother is very religious and guilt trip me every year to sing during the midnight mass.

“Harsh. And you're going back soon...

“Mmh. But you know what? I'm only using this as an excuse to explain why I keep singing. Because I still love it but I hate the reactions. I mean, I'm not completely oblivious, I know what I look like. Getting asked if I still possess an intact set of genitalia gets old very fast.”

Grantaire looked at him a few seconds and blushed a little. He looked down at his folded hands on his laps.

“I'm sorry.”

Enjolras shrugged.

“Ah well... At least everyone in the group was kind enough to never mention it again.

“Except I just did... I'm sorry.

“It's all right. I started it.” Enjolras smiled gently at him. “I trust you to keep my secrets to yourself.

“For what it's worth... I though you were astonishing back then. I was so shaken, I... I told everyone it was stage fright but, Enjolras, I had to excuse myself because your voice...” He looked away from Enjolras, ashamed. “Jehan and Feuilly found me crying in the toilets.”

 

Enjolras was looking at him with very wide eyes, his pink lips half opened in surprise and the slightest embarrassment.

“Oh, well...

“I'm sorry. This is so mortifying, I'm so sorry.” Grantaire had a hand on his face, his eyes everywhere but on the blond.

“It's... certainly unexpected. I...” Enjolras looked at Grantaire and let out a small huff of laughter upon seeing the other man's obvious red face. He softly put his hands on Grantaire's free one, between them on the bench, and pressed it with his own. “Thank you.” He smiled and, without letting go of Grantaire's hand, ate an other piece of fruit. Looking around, he hummed a little with contentment. “I'm glad you dragged me here. It's such a nice day.”

Grantaire chanced a glance toward Enjolras and smiled a little.

“Yeah. My pleasure.”

They smiled at each-other and Grantaire graciously accepted the piece of banana offered to him by the other man. Neither of them put their hands away until it was time for them to head back to the university, and not a single more word was said about it that very day.

 

*

 

It was four in the morning when it happened.

That's how they do it.

Montparnasse was asleep in his bed and the door had been kicked open. Soon, his flat was filled with policemen and special forces. He blinked in the sudden light that flooded his bedroom, and hold his bare hands in front of him, not a hint of smile on his pretty face. He had been expecting something like that.

“Messieurs.

“Volodymyr Malewicz, you are under arrest for suspicions of criminal conspiracy, murder, attempt murder, robbery, armed robbery, and blackmail. Please, follow us calmly.”

Montparnasse nodded and, his hands still at head level, stood up and let himself be handcuffed once he had put clothes on. Without saying anything, he followed the officers into the police van.

 

Jehan's phone started ringing around six the same morning. He grabbed the phone with a heavy hand, but answered nonetheless to Parnasse's ringtone.

“Allo? Parnasse?

“Jehan, bird... I need you to listen to me very attentively, can you do that? I know it's very early in the morning, but it's important.”

Jehan got himself out of the bed, worried.

“Are you alright? What's going on?

“Jehan, I have been arrested. It's very serious this time... I need you to get me a lawyer. Could you do that?

“Oh gods... Of course! Oh, Parnasse... What happened?

“They got me this morning at my flat. I can't really tell you what they are accusing me of... But I could face prison if I'm declared guilty.”

Jehan put a hand to his mouth and fell to his knees on the hard wood flood. The loud noise it made echoed in the living room where he had moved to.

“Prison?” His voice was small and almost a whisper. “How long?

“Jehan...

“Tell me!”

He heard Montparnasse sigh at the other end of the line.

“Two years at best.

“And what's the worst? Parnasse, tell me...

“I could get 30 years... Bird... I'm so sorry.”

 

Jehan was shaking on the floor and his breathing was ragged. Grantaire, woken up by the sound that Jehan made by falling down, put is head through his bedroom door and upon seeing Jehan in the brink of tears came into the living room to sit by him, big eyes widened by concern.

“Jehan?”

The poet looked up at him, but kept talking to Montparnasse.

“I... I see. Is there anything else I can do?

“Could you put a sign on the shop?

“Of course, yes. I'll do that.

“Okay...

“Parnasse?

“Yes, bird? What is it?

“I love you! I love you, I don't want you to go to prison!” He was crying now. “Oh please... I love you too much!”

 

Standing up by the phone in his prison jail, Montparnasse closed his eyes, a closed fist against his tight mouth.

“I know, bird. I love you too. I love you. I...”

He looked up to see the policewoman in front of him gesturing to her watch. He nodded.

“I have to go, bird. I'm at _La Santé_. I don't know if they will let you visit, but... Hey, little bird, you know, Guillaume Apollinaire was locked up here too. So I won't be in bad company.

“ _La Santé_!? But it's high security! Why would they...

“I have to go, bird. I love you.

“I love you too, Parnasse. I love you, I love you, I love you! I'll find a lawyer, I swear.

“I know.” He smiled a little. “I love you. I'll see you soon.”

And not letting time for Jehan to say much more, he hanged up.

 

His useless phone in hand, Jehan sat there, empty and voiceless.

“Jehan?”

The young man looked up to Grantaire and to Courfeyrac who was still half asleep. Grantaire took his hand and pressed it.

“Jehan, what's going on? Is Montparnasse in prison?”

Jehan nodded and started crying again. Courfeyrac emitted a distressed noise and draped himself on the poet's back, holding him tightly.

Grantaire was up again, pacing the floor.

“We'll ask Enjolras. He's studying law. Courfeyrac, you too. You must know good lawyers who would be willing to take Parnasse's case.

“Yeah. We'll look into it with Enjolras.” He was slowly caressing Jehan's hands, putting gentle kisses on the poet's shoulders. “It will be okay, love. I swear to you, it will be okay.”

 

*

 

The sentence was without appeal, a couple months later.

Montparnasse was declared not-guilty of murder, attempted murder, armed robbery and blackmail by lack of evidences. (He was in Brittany when the murder had taken place and had several eye witnesses to support his claim.)

He had, however, been found guilty of “breaking and entering” and robbery, and sentenced to 2 years incompressible in prison, plus one year suspended.

Babet and Geulemer had ended up with 25 and 28 years of prison for murder. Claquesous was nowhere to be found.

 

Jehan, in his seat, wasn't sure if he should have cried in relief or despair.

He did a little bit of both and let Grantaire and Courfeyrac lead him to the small room where he would be able to say goodbye to Montparnasse.

 

Both men hold one another for a good two minutes and then Montparnasse turned to his mother.

“Ma'...”

The woman was pale and her face was tight but she was beautiful. Montparnasse had clearly inherited his prettiness from her and they looked very much alike. She had been sitting by Jehan during the whole trial, holding hands with the young man.

“Volodymyr... I swear to God!” She waved her hands in warning. “At least you'll have a good excuse to not visit me on Sundays now.”

Montparnasse's face turned into a melange of sadness and amusement and he embraced his mother.

“I'm sorry Ma'.

“I know you are, Vovik. You also were sorry when you and Jean went riding your bicycle when you were 10 and the poor boy came back with two missing teeth!”

Jehan flushed and looked away from Mrs Malewicz. The woman shook her head and kissed her son on his forehead.

“I'll come visit you sometimes, with Jean. You better be good now.” She patted him on the cheek and went out of the room, sitting on the bench just outside, her hand on her cherry-red mouth.

 

Montparnasse turned to Jehan and they entwined again.

“I'll come and see you every week. I looked it up, you're allowed at least one visit a week. I'll come every week-end.

“I look forward to it, bird.”

Jehan tried to smile but his face was still wet with tears.

“I'm going to miss you... What am I supposed to do without you, Parnasse?

“You'll have Courfeyrac. And we'll see each other every week, you just told me.”

Jehan nodded and kissed Montparnasse on the mouth, ferocious and desperate. He caressed his neck for what felt like the last time and kissed him some more.

At long last, Jehan let him go and took a step back, nudging his other lover.

 

Montparnasse smiled, took hold of Courfeyrac's neck and brought their foreheads together.

“You take care of him, cat.

“I will, I promise.

“And come to visit, too. I got used to your face in the end.”

He smiled and let him go with a last, barely there, kiss on the mouth. Turning toward Grantaire, he smiled and they nodded.

“You watch over the both of them.

“Of course. Take care of yourself, Montparnasse.”

The taxidermist rolled his eyes and hold Jehan one last time.

He gave them one last smile and a small wave. The door closed itself behind him.

 

 

 


	3. à mon amour sans pudeur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are kisses and revelations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo... Have you forgotten about this series yet? Sorry for the long wait. I have to work on my master paper this year if that's any excuse... 
> 
> Thank you Helena, for always being super enthusiastic about everything I write!!! I hope you'll enjoy this one.

 

“Bonjour M. Duquesne. How are your children? Still in bed with the flu?”

Jehan smiled at the guard at the prison door as he wrote down his name in the visitor's book. Two months in and he knew the name of practically everyone working there.

“Bonjour, M. Prouvaire.” The man smiled back. “They are better, thank you. Back to school at last.”

Jehan let out a small laugh and nodded.

“Well, I'm glad to hear it. Can I go in?”

The old man nodded and Jehan went through. He passed the bag and body search and finally acceded the visitors parlour. Sitting down in one of the chair at the most secluded table, he put his bag in front of himself and settled himself for the few minutes it would take Parnasse to join him in the room.

He was lost in the contemplation of the sky through the window when two warm hands settled on his shoulders and he let his head fall back against Montparnasse's chest.

“Hello there, bird.

“Hello.” He smiled. “I brought you biscuits. Feuilly made them.

“Oh, brilliant.” He then proceeded to pull Jehan up and hug him strongly. Jehan melted in the embrace. “I missed you Jehan.

“I was there last week end.

“I know.” Parnasse closed his eyes and rest his head against Jehan's. “I miss seeing you everyday.” He whispered. “I miss kissing you.”

Jehan blushed terribly and laughed a little. They sat, side by side, their elbows and knees pressed together and shared biscuits and stories and secrets until the guard came to take Montparnasse away.

Jehan smiled, pressed Parnasse's hand between his own and waved at him until he was out of view.

Slowly he got up and took his bag. They had eaten all the biscuits but it seemed to him as if the bag was now filled with lead. He passed M. Duquesne and smiled gently at him before exiting the prison walls.

It took him eight minutes and two metro stations to start crying.

 

*

 

The setting sun was shining through the large window in Enjolras' kitchen.

Grantaire was cutting a baguette into small sticks and covering them with salted butter. The apartment was silent except for Enjolras' footsteps across the kitchen floor as he brought his _oeufs à la coque_ to the small table. He sat in front of Grantaire and, when their knees and feet knocked against each others, smiled softly.

Grantaire blinked and smiled back. It was a good smile, Enjolras thought. An honest, happy smile.

It was late in the evening, maybe nine or ten. They were just back from the Musain and the light was yellow in Enjolras' a bit too small kitchen, showering them with gold.

Enjolras took a spoon and beheaded both their eggs.

“You know who loved _oeufs à la coque_?” Grantaire said with a grin.

Enjolras looked at him and squinted.

“Are you going to make a joke?”

Grantaire started laughing and shook his head. He dipped his first bread stick inside his egg.

“Nope. It's a simple history fact. So, do you want to know?” When Enjolras, mouth full of bread and egg yolk opened wide eyes to tell him to go on, he smiled again. “Well. It's Louis XV. No, don't sigh!” He laughed again. “He loved it so much that he expended the number of hens living at Versailles and started the most prestigious poultry farm in France.”

Enjolras looked at him for a few seconds before closing his eyes with a long suffering expression on his face.

Grantaire's raucous laughter could be heard for the street.

 

*

 

That Saturday, Jehan had comes with Courfeyrac.

They had brought some _tartelettes aux framboises_ from Ladurée. Courfeyrac had let out a strangled sound when he had seen the price of a single _tartelette_.

“6€50 for shortcrust dough and a dozen raspberries? It better be worth it!”

Jehan had shrugged and bought three. It was Montparnasse's favourite dessert and pastries shop. He was not above paying way too much if it meant that Parnasse was going to be able to eat one today. He could afford it anyway.

And the smile on Montparnasse's face an hour later had been worth it.

 

When they left, Courfeyrac took Jehan's hand in his and smiled softly.

“Are you all right?”

Jehan took a few minutes before answering but finally smiled back.

“Yes. Let's go to the Père Lachaise to see Chenier.

“He's there?

“No. He's probably at Picpus, in the _guillotined common grave_. You know, with Robespierre, Danton, Saint Just... But he's got a commemorative plaque on his brother's grave. His brother was a poet too, you know ?”

Courfeyrac smiled, amazed.

“How do you know that?

“Grantaire told me about the plaque.

“Of course he did. Don't you want to see the rest of the revolutionaries?

“Oh no... It's a mass grave, really. And the cemetery is private so you have to pay an entrance fee. And you can't stray from the group. It's owned by the Americans, you know!

“Really?

“Yeah. They bought it and they put Lafayette there.”

Courfeyrac started to laugh and Jehan blushed, pleased.

“It's true! There is a flag and everything... But there is a plaque for Robespierre on his fiancée's grave too.

“We should tell Enjolras!”

Jehan rolled his eyes and took Courfeyrac's hand in his.

“They went to the cemetery for their first date, R probably told him already.

“Their first... What???” Courfeyrac stopped in his tracks and goggled at Jehan. “They go on official dates now? Like... Officially?”

Jehan couldn't help but laugh.

“No. Not really. I meant the first time they spent time together without getting nasty about politic. It was a while ago. September I think.”

Courfeyrac sighed a little and swung their hands between them.

“I'm glad that they get along better.” He smiled and kissed Jehan on the cheek. The younger boy smiled gently and squeezed his lover's hand.

“Come on. It's line 6, then 2.”

Courfeyrac smiled again, and followed Jehan to the _Glacière_ metro station.

 

*

 

Feuilly was riding the RER with Combeferre after lunch when a group of police persons in uniforms boarded the train car and started to card people at random. He heard Combeferre sigh and shuffle inside his bag to get his ID card out before he saw the police officer stop in front of his friend.

“Good morning sir. Your papers, please.”

With a polite smile, Combeferre hold out his card. And Feuilly looked around with a frown at the ethnicity of the people being carded. He stood up and handed over his ID to get it checked but the policeman shook his head.

“It's all right, sir.

“No it's not. Control my ID, please.

“I'm going to have to ask you to sit down, sir.

“You're only checking him because he's Arab, are you not? Are you refusing to do the same with me because I'm white?”

Combeferre sighed a little and put his hand on Feuilly's shoulder.

“Feuilly... It's all right. I'm used to it.

“Well, you shouldn't!!!” He turned toward the police persons once more. “This is shameful.

“Feuilly...

“No!” But Combeferre's face made him hold his next words and tighten his fists. He sat back in his seat and stubbornly looked ahead. The officers went away with a last warning nod and Combeferre turned to his friend.

“Paul...

“How often does it happen?

“Often enough that one of the things we fight for is the _récépissé_ after ID controls by the police.”

Feuilly frowned with sadness and looked up at Combeferre.

“Does it happen to Bossuet too?

“To Bossuet and Bahorel too, yeah.” Combeferre shrugged. “The curse of having African origins I guess.”

Feuilly looked stricken.

“Bahorel too? He never told me... Why would he hide this from me?

“Maybe he knew how you would react and wanted to avoid upsetting you. Bossuet is discreet about it too, but he told me that his personal record was being check three times in the same day, in three different places.”

Feuilly opened his mouth to talk but the words stuck in his throat. Combeferre smiled gently and pat him on the arm.

“This is what we fight for, my friend. Keep it in mind.”

 

*

 

Joly was a deep shade of red, buried under the weight of Bossuet in their shared bed. Both of their frames shaking with laughter as Musichetta was taking pictures.

“You both look so lovely,” she would say between two shots “Look at you...”

Her smiles for them were always fond and tender, and at the present, more than a little delighted. It had started quite normally that evening, but in the midst of love-making, a sudden urge for photographic evidences had arisen, and Joly's joke about other risen things had turned into a huge mess of limbs and giggles from the boys. Bossuet was still buried balls-deep inside Joly and Musichetta was not woman to let the occasion pass to take absolutely gorgeous pornographic pictures of her lovers.

“Oh come on, Antoine...” She cajoled “Come on. Fuck him.”

Bossuet smiled and complied without a word, a big smile still playing on his lips. Musichetta took her place at the head of the bed again, Joly's head resting between her spread thighs. Holding the camera in one hand, she carefully grabbed Joly by the hair and tilted his face toward her.

“Everything ok, there?”

The unfiltered moan that answered made her laugh and gently scratch his neck.

 

Later that week, they framed a couple of the pictures.

 

*

 

“He cries at night sometimes. When Courfeyrac is asleep.”

Montparnasse closed his eyes and passed a slow hand over his face. With poised movements, he took a cigarette from the packet Grantaire had brought for him and put it to his lips.

“You've got fire?”

Grantaire slide a lighter toward him on the table and Montparnasse took his first drag of tobacco.

“You're all right?

“Mmmh...” Montparnasse moved his hand about. “I'm conflicted between wanting Jehan to be always happy, warm and loved, and the sick satisfaction of knowing he's missing me as much as I miss him.”

Grantaire let out a small huff of laughter and pocketed the lighter.

He had come on a Sunday, unbeknownst to Jehan who had come the day before. He would do that sometimes. Once every month he would come on his own and tell Montparnasse about how Jehan was really doing. His little bird was a sly beast and despite all the love he had for him, Parnasse needed a fresh eye to assess the situation for him.

“Does Courfeyrac treat him well?

“Yes.” Grantaire laughs. “He does. He bought him a carnivore plant last week because Jehan was feeling down. You know, the kind that eat flies and stuff.

“Yeah, I know.” There was a smile in Montparnasse's voice. “You'd tell me, if there was anything... Right? If he was reckless. I don't want to have him with broken bones again.

“I'll keep an eye on him, I swear.”

Montparnasse nodded slowly and looked at the mural clock.

“I have to go now. I'll see you next month?

“Sure.”

Grantaire stood up and put on his coat, ready to leave the prison as soon as possible. A hand on his arm stopped him short. He turned to see Montparnasse watching him with furrowed brows and an unhappy turn to his smile.

“Thank you. Really.”

 

Speechless, Grantaire could only put his hand over Parnasse's and promise again to come back soon.

 

*

 

Enjolras took everything in. Every single details he could burn into his memory.

He exhaled and his gaze caressed Grantaire's long crooked nose, too wide nostrils and pale complexion. His skin was a little bit waxy and he had purple and blue bags under his eyes. His cheeks were covered in stubble and two black sideburns on each side of his face. He had a very masculine jaw, and a thick neck over wide shoulders. His lips were thin and pale pink, slightly reddened by wine at the corners, his teeth were a mess of chipped enamel, all of them sort of crooked.

His hair was a lost cause. It was a mass of heavy and tight black curls that he never seemed to cut at an appropriate length, or rather seemed to cut on his own, looking at himself in a mirror covered by steam. In the dark.

His whole frame was bulkier than Enjolras' and he looked definitely more masculine than him, even if he was shorter (by seven centimetres, he had been told. He was going to believe Grantaire on this.). His hands were wide and very warm, and his forearms somewhat hairy. Sometimes, after he had worked on his sculptures (that Enjolras still had to see, but Grantaire promised to bring him to the studio next week end.), his hands would be dry and infinitely soft and then Grantaire would put a hand on Enjolras' neck and rub the small spot at the base of his skull that would make him close his eyes and his heart beat a little bit faster.

Grantaire's favourite song by Queen was “bicycle race” and he loved to vociferate it in the afternoon while he was cleaning the living room. (Until he had seen Enjolras and started “Killer Queen” just to mock him. They ended up dancing to it and knocking a large glass full of flowers over, in a particularly savage set of movements. Jehan had been less than pleased.)

 

Grantaire was not handsome. Nor was he pretty by any stretch of imagination.

But Enjolras couldn't get enough of him and the thought made him bit his lip. He took a deep breath and softly let it out.

Seeing the movement from the corner of his eyes, Grantaire turned to Enjolras with a wonky but genuine smile.

“Everything's all right, Enjolras?

“I might just be in love with you.”

 

The other man put his wooden spoon down on the table and looked at him with very grave eyes.

“You might just?

“I do believe so, yes.”

Slowly, Grantaire started smiling again, his eyes impossibly tender.

“I might just love you too.”

Enjolras knocked his foot against Grantaire's and smiled.

“Smells great. What are you making?

“Bahorel's mom Tajine recipe. It's glorious. That woman is a magician.

“Are you done soon?”

“Yeah.” Grantaire nodded. “I just have to cover and let simmer for a while.

“Great. Do it.”

 

Grantaire laughed lightly and did so. He quickly washed his wooden spoon and turned to Enjolras who took his hand.

“I think you should kiss me now.”

The art student blushed violently and squeezed Enjolras' hand with his own, slightly shaky, hand.

Slowly, very slowly, he pushed his lips against Enjolras, eyes closed and heart so close to beat out of his chest.

 

*

 

That Saturday night, the Musain was bonded, and the room at the back of the café was letting out bits of laughter and conversations.

Bahorel, Combeferre and Jehan were discussing theology in Arabic huddled in a corner, and Bahorel's laughter was rowdy. He kept interrupting the other two with bits of the Koran that laid open on the table while Jehan's voice grew deeper and deeper.

On the other side of the room, Joly, Bossuet and Grantaire were joking around and eating their second saucisson. It was barely 7pm and Grantaire was having a glass of white wine. His first and last that evening.

 

“How was your week-end back home, R? You saw your Grand-mother, right?

“Yeah, Baba. Well... It was nice. A bit like that movie, you know?”

Bossuet frowned a little and put his chin in his hand.

“What movie?

“Judaic parc.” Grantaire smiled, obviously refraining from laughing. “Staring Baba as the Tyrannosaurus Rex and my aunts as the Raptors. 'Oh, Melen, you're a fine young man now!' ” He started mimicking. “ 'Have you got a girlfriend? Because I know a charming young woman, you two should meet!' 'Myriame, Melen is a homosexual! No, I know a young lawyer, very respectable and very handsome, too!'”

Joly, at this point was lost for the world, his shoulder shaking with hilarity and his forehead resting on the table. Bossuet was grinning largely and hiding his laughter under his hand as Grantaire kept on retelling his vacations.

 

Far from concerned about Grantaire's family epics, Courfeyrac, Feuilly and Enjolras were deeply engrossed in a political talk about education and employment. Courfeyrac and Enjolras were both member of the UNEF and criticizing the inner machinations of the student union, closer to a USSR communist party than a republican student association. As André Gide was abusively quoted, Grantaire started to sing a communist song in Russian and things went to hell when Courfeyrac tried to throw his glass full on beer to him, only retained from doing so by Enjolras and Feuilly glaring at a laughing Grantaire.

 

 

At 20h, everyone left the café, and Grantaire took Enjolras's hand in his.

“Do you still want to see my studio.”

Enjolras nodded eagerly and they chatted the whole 15 minutes it took them to arrive there. The place was desert and Grantaire's studio was on ground floor.

Enjolras felt strangely impatient and impressed in advance, ready to be amazed by Grantaire's work, and when the door was opened and he stepped in, he wasn't disappointed.

 

There were sculptures of Greek heroes and gods everywhere. Some made of clay, some made of stone. Enjolras could even see one or two small figures of bronze.

They were all anatomically perfect, but all had very mobile, active and realistic poses. Their hands and faces were all mid movement, mid speech.

Enjolras was awed, his eyes fixed on a very life like Persephone.

“Oh lord, Grantaire... I can see each seed of the fruit... Her hands! Her face!”

Grantaire blushed a little, a small please smile on his lips.

“You like her?

“God, yes... She's beautiful... Did you model her from someone real?

“Yeah. I have a girl who model for me a lot. Floréal... But I don't always need the model to be here.” He pointed toward a laughing Patroclus. “That's Courfeyrac... Do you recognize him?

“Yes... “ Enjolras' head was spinning. He turned around a little to see more of the sculptures. “This is simply incredible... Is this... It's you isn't it?”

Grantaire looked at the work Enjolras was looking at and took a quick intake of breath.

“Yeah... I'm... I'm Pylade.

“And who's Oreste?” Enjolras smiled and took a step closer to the statue before falling completely silent. “Oh...”

Grantaire said nothing, biting is lip in self consciousness.

“I should have asked you, I know, but you-

“Ssshhh...”

Enjolras waved his hand at him, never looking away from the marble couple. He kept his hand held toward Grantaire until the other man took it and stepped to his side...

They stood there for a while, holding hands until Enjolras turned his head toward him and smiled.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: lapieuvrebleue  
> secret tumblr where there is news and extra about my fictions: juin1832 (Houuu, exciting.)


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